It's 107 balmy degrees here in America's Playground, and just a few degrees lower than that indoors at the Hurricane Hole. Living in our vintage 1960's-era swinging bachelor pad, with more un-opening windows than walls, is sort of like living in a greenhouse with shag carpeting. It's a groovy pad, baby, but the air conditioners just can't keep up.
But here I am, sipping on a steaming hot cup of coffee this afternoon, surfing Amazon.com for any new sailing books that I haven't already read or put on my wishlist. Unfortunately, there are none. But I'm in a tropical mood, again, this time because I found some coconut-creme flavored Coffeemate at the grocery store last week. So a splash of that in my hazelnut java, and these palm trees I see from my bedroom window (wall) might just as easily be swaying in trade-wind breezes on the shore of some distant Caribbean island instead of defining the property line between my back yard and the next subdivision where every house looks like it was built by Taco Bell's chief architect.
But as I pen that last sentence, I sip the last bit of coconut-infused coffee from my well-worn ceramic mug, and realize that the nearest ocean is 200 miles and several months away.
Maybe I should switch to drinking the hard stuff. That always brings me back to Vegas...